


Half a Symphony

by Anonymous



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Flashbacks, Ghostbur, beware: many em dashes, ghostbur's book dang, sbi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished"The moon is just starting to rise over New L’Manburg when Ghostbur sets the tip of his pen to the first yellowed page of a book.
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	Half a Symphony

There’s a double ringing in Ghostbur’s head, and it’s split clean in two. How should one describe the dismemberment of sound? It’s only hearing the overtones, he thinks; it’s a duet of one. Where’s the other violinist? Dead. Dragged away. On vacation, maybe. But the concert without them is a truly depressing affair. 

Stitching his memories back together is like composing the rest of an unfinished symphony, except there’s a right answer that he’s trying to reconstruct. Wilbur is dead after all, and surely there’s no use in waiting for another movement if the musicians have already left the concert hall. 

Sometimes, if he concentrates hard enough on the half he can hear, the other parts start filling themselves in. He imagines a dance. A leg sweeps forward, his must swing back. It moves to the right, and he follows in tandem.

The moon is just starting to rise over New L’Manburg when he sets the tip of his pen to the first yellowed page of a book. 

_Things I Remember_ by Ghostbur.  
He starts from the beginning and lets the music complete itself. 

**_“The smell of bread”_**  
Clumsily, he had kneaded the dough, determined to do it just as Phil had. On a flour-dusted board, he had pushed down with pudgy hands and watched as the dough flattened and ballooned at the sides. Carefully, he put it back in the right position and began again. 

Afterwards, with sweat beginning to drip down his forehead, he put it aside and watched carefully as it rose, quietly shooing Tommy away when he tried grabbing at it. For hours, he tended to the bread until it emerged from the oven brown and warm. And when Phil and Techno got home, he’d run up to them with his heart in his chest and dragged them through the door. 

They’d crowded around the dinner table as he took a knife and sliced into the bread’s crust. With a crackle, the warm smell filled the room. With a crackle, everyone was laughing and taking a slice. With a _crackle–_

A burst of color spews forward onto a crowd, screams mixing with the firecrackers. He’s on the roof with Tommy, trying to hold him back. Hold him back from the podium where he sees–

**_"Sparring with Techno as a kid”_**

He gripped the wooden sword tight in his hand as he got in position, ready to confront Techno again. Overgrown blades of grass tickled at his ankles as the sun bore down meanly. To his right he could hear the faint warbling of a bird. After a morning of being knocked down, this was his last chance to win before Phil called them in for lunch. 

He lunged in and attempted to fake a movement downwards before being promptly swept off his feet in a few sword strokes. Soon, Techno’s hand was stretched out above him. He took it and pulled himself up.

“This is stupid. How come you always win so easily?” he grumbled, brushing grass and dirt off his pants. 

Techno just laughed and replied, “Because I’m the best, of course!” At Wilbur’s eye roll, he added, “Plus, you never go all in. You always hesitate for some reason. If you’re not even confident in your own movements, how are you supposed to win agai–”

He was cut off by Wilbur tackling him to the ground, and soon they dissolved into a mess of faux punches and giggles. 

“Are you planning on getting into fistfights with all your enemies from now on?” Techno laughed.

“No, only with the ones that act like they’re above it!” Wilbur huffed, out of breath. 

Techno grinned and swung at him loosely. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

**_“People cheering for me”_**

They’d finally won. They’d really, truly done it. L’Manburg was an independent nation. Garbed in the same colors as him were his fellow citizens, and he was their leader. Standing up high, he could see all around him the land that was his. A Constitution was drafted, a flag designed. Over his L’Manburg he smiled and spoke to his people.

“We are entering into a new period of L'Manburg- a period of prosperity! Of strength! Of unity.” A deafening cheer rose from the audience. To his side he saw Fundy, his son, smiling. Pride welled up in him. 

“You know,” Wilbur continued, “Someone once told me that it was never meant to be. That we could never realize our dreams and win the day. Well, I’d like to say to them now that _it was meant–_ ”

But who’s that in the crowd? Something’s not right with one of the audience members. They look so ragged and tired, and that expression they wear... Wait, they’re getting up now. Where are they going? They shouldn’t be there. Where are you going?

Schla–

**_“A ravine”_**

It was dark. So dark. He liked the darkness. He liked that there weren’t rails on the stairs. 

It was cold. He was beginning to like that, too. 

**_“Philza stabbing me to death with a sword”_**

There was debris at his feet and dust clogging the air. In the distance, he heard the frantic calls of his people. His eyes watered. 

His work was finally done. L’Manburg would be a symphony forever unfinished. He was the composer, and this was his final requiem. It was his L’Manburg. His L’Manburg. His… 

Look how much work went into all of this, and now it’s gone. 

And how did it start? An old tune came to mind. He hummed it quietly.  
_‘All the salmon had swum to the sea. And my lover she darted away down the stream with the love that she’d taken from me’_

How little time he’d spent with his son… if he could go back–

But the world was ending now. He had to focus. 

If there was anyone left in the world that he could trust, it would be–

He turned around. 

… What is he doing here? 

**_“./ ..”_**

Ghostbur shuts the book. The dance is over. The stage lights darkened.  
He doesn’t need to know what he did, after all. What’s the point in finishing a symphony if the composer hates it?  
He opens the barrel and gently places his book inside. At least some of the good memories can remain. 

Besides, the sun is rising, and Tommy and Tubbo are arguing again. And he’d much rather deal with that instead.

**Author's Note:**

> song lyrics from beetlebug's 'an ode to l'manburg'


End file.
